Missing Number
by Delusional Fishies
Summary: The day Mom died changed things. Well, now Taylor realized, after agonizing over trying to remember, to fix, and change that instance, that that it was her who changed most. But having a Tinker power isn't even as safe as having bugs, and she sure as hell isn't going to trust as easily as before...
1. Of Beginnings 1-1

1.1

You know how sometimes you have nightmares, and they turn out to be real? I have had that same nightmare for years. It always starts the same way, with intense heat that blinds me and makes my eyes water to the point of pain.

We are in a burning, molten coffin of steel and glass. It is from that moment on that I remember every detail of what I see. Some people say that there's a phenomenon where your life flashes before your eyes just before you die. I think, because of that incident, I keep remembering that moment.

I never forget.

We are in a burning, molten coffin of steel and glass. It is the family car. I remember my Alexandria action doll still tucked firmly into the cup holder on the back door, on the left. It melts from the fire in seconds.

I remember every second. The doll's face runs off in thick, rolling droplets of plastic, and the stench of it fills the air. Glass shards that were scattered just less than seventeen seconds before this moment are all over the upside down roof. I feel one or two digging into my skin, from the explosion.

I remember that moment very, very clearly. What I cannot remember is what happened the moment before that.

Maybe it is a human thing, to remember the moment you almost died, but I can't help but hate it.

From then on, my childhood lies behind me, forgotten, while I have an alien world to enter.

But let's return to that moment. Mom is beside me, humming some lullaby that I don't remember the words of, only that soft humming sound. The words are something from before that time, Mom never wrote them down for me.

I don't think she had expected to go this way.

It's kind of silly, really, to go and die in a car accident.

Silly, but every time I think about it, I curl up and shiver. I remember that day. Mom's back burns the entire time, shielding me from the fires. I remember the putrid smell of burning flesh tainting the scent of Mom's lotion. She doesn't have perfume on, but Mom was never really into that sort of thing.

No one tells me what happened that day. How Mom and I were there is never explained. I just... remember her whispering...

Maybe by that point, the heat gets inside my head and messes with what I remember. I believe Mom was saying something to me and to someone else. No one else believes it. After all, Mom has never showed signs of triggering, and she certainly has not told Dad of anything abnormal.

But I remember it, clearly.

"-ceus, please. I don't have-" The fires usually crackle at this time, and someone comes to crank open the door. Mom can't leave though, not with the iron rods that protrude from her stomach, and not without her legs.

I remember every second.

"-her. Promise me." She looks on, with eyes glazed over and waiting for some sign. It comes at an agonizingly slow pace, and Mom never tells me what she was looking for. She never told me then, and she never tells me now, in my dreams. Maybe... maybe I'm breaking a little on the inside, but you can understand why I can't just let this go, can't you?

Her hands grasp my cheeks, and I feel her breath on the nape of my neck. She is bringing me closer, to hug me, but she can't bring me close enough without hurting me.

No hugs for us-it never happens, even in these nightmares.

Blood dribbles out from her lips, but Mom smiles at me. I see tears comes down her cheeks. I remember the one on the right falling onto my forehead, and blinking. A drop of liquid had splattered into my eye, but I regret not looking for what Mom was looking at for even a second longer.

"Taylor. Taylor, listen to me," she says with her last breath. She coughs too. The smoke building inside is making the memory/nightmare grow dimmer and dimmer by the moment. "I know you are strong and smart-"

The window shatters.

I hear frantic voices outside, of people actually willing to help. You'd think I was being silly, but when is the last time you saw both hero and villain working together to save lives? I remember it, you know?

And I remember them both, all of them really, being too late.

"Taylor-"

A pair of hands pull me away from the wreckage, and that is when I wake up.

* * *

Dad watches me from a distance. I see him fidgeting now and then. Maybe he is thinking about approaching me, but is thinking the better of it? I see him standing there, sipping on the blank, black mug of roasted coffee, and I wonder if my life would have been different if things had not gone the way they did.

Usually, I end up wanting to just let Emma push me off a roof. Dad still can't look me straight in the eyes.

Eventually, Dad walks over in his slippers. They scrape lightly against the floor, and I look up as he walks over, "Hey."

"Hey," I reply.

A moment of silence passes between us.

Dad sets down his mug and scratches the back of his head. He has not shaved in days by the looks of it, though sometimes I wonder if it's a fashion statement, like the girls at school often tease me about my looks with. I have all but given up on trying to communicate, but it's good that Dad hasn't.

"What are you making there?" He asks finally.

I look down to where he was looking.

The pile of scraps I collected last night are sitting silently inside the cardboard box I stuffed them into back then. Some pieces are rusty, and others are out right broken, but I think I can fix them. It's not even hard, or troublesome as I answer, "I'm building a bike."

Dad stares warily, but he smiles and nods before he turns away. No conversation for today then... I let off a mental sigh of relief.

I don't think I could take a heart-to-heart talk between the two of us. Not yet, anyway.

Besides, I'm almost done.

I stare down at the collapsible bicycle in my hands, press a button, and start folding it until it's barely larger than a cell phone. There is utterly nothing complex about it, so why can't I sell it? At least, maybe I can get away from school.

Well, it's worth a shot.

With that, I slap on the silly sticker of the logo I drew earlier. _Silph Co._


	2. Of Beginnings 1-2

1.2

The worst part of making a Technical Machine was that I didn't understand how it worked at all. With my bicycles, I could write an easy-to-use manual that would cover at least 90% of the maintenance, and probably teach a couple of people how to do the rest. It was an understandable work of engineering and science, and stylish to boot.

I thought it was stylish, anyway.

But with a Technical Machine, I couldn't explain heads from tails on this little thing. Obviously, this meant I could not advertise or sell it. Who would put unknown objects in their mouths-oh, wait. Hm...

There were actually a lot of people who did stupid things, now that I thought about it. But if I couldn't explain what this was, then wouldn't I get into all sorts of legal trouble? I knew next to nothing about being a hero or a villain, but I knew enough about our American culture to know that anyone can sue anybody over anything.

It was a headache I would like to avoid, if at all possible.

Still, the Technical Machines were a marvel.

Once the work is finished, they become a near indestructible disc the size of my palm. The surface is smooth and reflective like that of a CD or a DVD, but taken out of the case, this tiny disc hovers above my palm like a little hovering disc...thingy. Or an UFO, I wasn't an expert on hovering gadgets. You could take this little widget, place it above the head of a human, just in front of the forehead, and...

The disc labeled 'TM31' began to spin until it was only a blur of shimmering white light. I watched as motes of this blue-white power fell off like a sprinkle of powdered snow, all over my eyes. For a moment, there was only blinding light from my perspective, but then knowledge came.

Knowledge in the sense that it taught me how to shift the world in a specific way.

No, that wasn't right. More than just knowledge, the Technical Machine had created an artificial shard of metaphorical or maybe literal extra-planar power, that would, well, allow me to use the power I had wanted. To be honest, I wasn't exactly an expert on that either. In fact, I would go as far as to say I sucked at explaining these things.

Really, as you could obviously see, I didn't really know how to explain Technical Machines. It would serve my purpose, but...

... I really was awful at this whole thing.

I sighed, as the power, _Mimic_ washed over me.

There were two parts to this power. One was the combative aspect, which allowed me to basically copy the power of another Parahuman. That would come in handy, maybe, if I could survive meeting one. I was a Tinker for Christ's sake, not a... an actual Parahuman who could fly through walls or something! Heck, even the power to control bugs would have lent me more durability than making silly non-combative thingies!

... Actually, I would take that back. Controlling bugs would be disgusting and I'm going to throw up now-

Ahem.

Well... I shook my head.

The other, more discrete power of the Technical Machine 31 was it's ability to change my shape to _mimic_ that of other people. Now, it wasn't as good as another ability that my power told me of-Transform-but that one couldn't be taught and I couldn't make a Technical Machine out of it.

Now that I thought about it, with the peace of the dark waters around me, in my little hovel set inside the docks, I didn't really have that spectacular of a power. Most of what I did was related to the bicycle, or making things smaller. The Technical Machine fitted into the palm of my hand, the bicycle fitted into my palm... practically everything I could think of making did the same, but I couldn't just take _anything_ and miniaturise it apparently.

Have you ever worked with wrecked parts? With rusted metal? Let me tell you, even with all the precautions I took, and all the measures I went though, the rust still left a mess on my clothes.

The first thing I thought about making was a small washing machine. Who wouldn't want a portable clothes cleaner?

Well, I failed.

With another long sigh, I allowed my head droop and my shoulders slump. What good was my power if I couldn't even make the things I wanted to make?

In the now polished metal frames of my bicycle, I saw my reflection after I had used the power of _Mimic_.

At least one thing worked right, I grumbled to myself.

It was strange to stare into an unfamiliar face and realize that it was me. This was the face of an elderly man, probably in his fifties. He still looked fit, and had the body and muscles to match, but his graying hair and the wrinkle of laugh lines told the story that I wished I had lived instead of this life.

It worked. His character, his lab coat, and everything just screamed Professor. It was good. He was good. 'Professor Sylph', I nodded in appreciation... this was better than any mask I could afford.

I slapped my cheeks, and I was me again. I was boring, lame Taylor again.

Another sigh.

I turned back to my other work, half way done already. I had a means and a front to distribute what I wanted to make and sell, but this other project was a personal project of my own. It seemed like every other day now that Sophia would hit me in some way.

Not that it mattered much, I only had to start wearing sweaters around the house to keep Dad from suspecting something. He still looked at me strangely, like he knew what I was hiding. Did he? I couldn't know.

But once my Potion is done, I won't have to worry about those cuts and bruises any more...


	3. Of Beginnings 1-3

1.3

I once thought filling out the forms for setting up a legitimate enterprise was the most frightening experienced I've ever had. I wasn't making a monolithic corporation with shares of stock to hand out by any standard; it was just a way for me to get by and get away from the life that I currently had. I filled out an articles of organization for a limited liability company and even finished the LLC operating agreement, and had to take out my only other technical machine (TM29 _Psychic_) in order to make a false identity for Professor Sylph.

It wasn't my brightest moment, I would admit. I didn't have to make another identity for myself, but I wanted to. Who would take me, a fifteen year old, scrawny teenager, seriously? After utilizing _Psychic_, I felt a larger part of what held me back were the months and months of bullying that had sunken in. I hadn't nearly achieved a great enough level of finesse with _Psychic_ to operate on my own mind to remove the conditioning, but I would do it one day.

All I could do right now was just bamboozle people into helping me set the Professor Sylph identity up. Looking down at the authentic driver's license with my-Professor Sylph's-face on it, I couldn't help but wonder if I had triggered a series of events that I would best avoid.

You saw it in the movies all the time; shadowy governments and dangerous organizations instantly seeing when someone did something out of the ordinary...

Well, I hoped that sort of thing was just plot points in a story, and certainly not reality.

Long story short, I had thought that the whole experience was frightening. Perhaps the most frightening at one point in my life or another, but it had not come close to this moment now, at the so-called grand opening of my bike store. I had chosen an almost beach-front property, most of that area was abandoned, so the processes were quick and cheap. It wasn't exactly in any gang's territory, so perhaps they would just... leave me alone or something. Hell, I sent paperwork to even the local Parahuman Response Team, but I wouldn't expect them to show up for a bike shop opening, tinker or not.

None of that really came close to the moment I opened my doors.

Would they like my products? I had hoped so.

Would my customers keep shopping here? I had hoped for that too.

Oh, did I wear the right colors? Maybe I should appear as Taylor instead of Sylph? What if... what if...

_Ring ding ding._ The first customer had arrived, my first customer! That was fast and to be honest, I hadn't realized almost fifteen minutes had passed since I had flipped the sign from 'CLOSED' to 'OPEN'. Now, I knew what you are thinking: that there's no way trouble would just show up on my doorstep, just for me, on the first day of my shop's grand opening.

Then Lung walked in, naked from the waist up, and mask gleaming.

What was I doing? I shook myself and started my sales pitch; I might have discriminated against him and other gangsters as a human being, but now I'm a Chief Executive Officer of my own company. That changed things as I greeted, "Hello there! Welcome to the world of Silph Company! My name is Sylph! People call me the Parahuman Professor!"

"Hn." He replied, "I saw one of those bikes."

"Ah, yes," I nodded, getting into character after the initial jitters. He was pointing at one of the bicycles in the window with everything else stacked on it. "That's the Extreme Model. It comes with a health monitor, GPS, converts into a motorcycle-very fuel efficient, since it runs off of... well, light and heat, really, and-"

"I want it."

"... Do you have a driver's license? I'll need to see that you have a license for motorcycles if I am to sell this to you." It was probably not the smartest move to ask for that immediately, so I added, "With all the upgrades, that will be $999.99. Not including tax, of course."

That might also have not been the smartest thing to do, but what was I supposed to say? I couldn't just break the law now that I finally had my shop! Lung didn't see it that way, and he seemed to grow a bit taller, when suddenly-

_Ring ding ding._

"Hello there! Welcome to the world of the Silph Company! My name is Sylph! People call me the Parahuman Professor!" I looked around Lung and added, "I'll be right with you in a... second... Armsmaster. My day can't get any better than this."

Mentally, I was freaking out, because despite using Mimic to change my outer appearance and clothes, I still had my Armsmaster underwear on. I was such a big fan! I can't believe Armsmaster was paying attention to me! In my store! Oh my god!

Sure, he wasn't the best, and he probably might have been a tad socially inept from the way he just nodded, but still!

I turned back to Lung. "Since this is my opening day, how about we put off checking that other stuff until another time?"

"Good." He nodded gruffly, and then reached into his pocket. Then he reached into his other pocket. Then he checked his back pockets. "I left my wallet at home," He said, watching me expectantly, then turning to the Extreme Edition Bike with what sounded like a longing sigh.

"...I can take credit?" At this point, it was all I could do to not freak out outwardly because I was freaking out inwardly. This sort of thing didn't happen to people! Why was this happening to me?

Lung nodded silently.

At this point, Armsmaster remarked with some resentment in his voice, "These bikes are plastic models."

I blinked. "Yes, those in the window are. You can't unfold actual bicycles indoors, after all." That was common sense! Really, what was Armsmaster doing, poking my merchandise without even a how-do-you-do? "Actual bikes are like this." I reached under the counter and grabbed one of the Extreme Edition Bicycles. It was just large enough to make the average wallets bulge up slightly.

Lung reached for it silently, staring at it as if nothing else existed in the world.

"Ah, wait." I held it back and almost immediately regretted it from the growl I received. "Look, I know you probably aren't coming back, so how about this... you ride around advertising for my bike shop, and you can have this, free. How about that?"

"Deal," He grabbed it like someone signing an online agreement without even reading what they were signing up for.

It was a surreal experience watching the leader of the ABB eagerly tear open the plastic wrapping, like a child growing up in a good and wholesome household on a Christmas morning, the sort of thing that only really happened in movies. He held up the red and silver block for a moment and then pressed the activation button.

Nothing happened.

Frowning, Lung pressed it again. Then he turned to me.

I grumbled, "You can't do that here! Go outside if you don't want to mess up my shop!"

Armsmaster walked up to the counter as we both stared at Lung riding off giddily in his new bike, "The design is... efficient."

"Thanks?" I blinked.

"What are these other products?" He asked.

At this point, I began to wonder if he was more man than machine from the awkward way he was talking. Maybe Psychic was affecting the way my mind worked more than I thought, but realizing more than less didn't seem like a bad thing to me. "This is Potion. It's a spray-on healing device that works for wounds and other body damage, but not for illnesses or terminal things like that, but I'm pretty sure you could reattach a lost limb or grow a new one with enough application."

"Oh, I see."

Was he... disappointed? It was hard to tell with his tone of voice. Damn it, I really wanted to impress him! "Well, if you want to cure illnesses, you can try my Heal All. It's a needle, and I realize a lot of people are afraid of them, but it's the best delivery device I could make. Once it's in the body, it should take care of poisons, drowsiness, paralysis, burns, mental illnesses, and most, if not all, illnesses."

"I'll take one of each then."

I nodded, "Very good. Let me ring you up... that'll be eighty dollars."

Armsmaster nodded and reached into his front... pocket... or something? Then his other storage... inventory... or something? Then the one in the back, and the other one, and that other one... the corners of his lips twisted downwards, "I... seem to have forgotten my wallet."

I wanted to slap my forehead, "Just... take them. Pay next time."


	4. Of Beginnings 1-4

1.4

"Taylor, you weren't at school today."

I take back what I have to say about opening my store being the scariest moment in my life. There's nothing that really gets you to jump so much like a child with her hand caught in a cookie jar as being caught sneaking back into the house just before dinner, "I was going to tell you, Dad."

"Tell me what, exactly?" He asks not in an angry tone of voice, but also not in an actually curious one. It is hard to read Dad, even knowing him so well.

Maybe it's because it hurts to stare into his eyes.

He walks closer, setting down the plate of leftover lasagne we had saved for this night. The table is already set for dinner, so I must be late for that too. The floor creaks only so slightly when Dad walks over, but I feel like I can feel every vibration and every sound. It's hard not to see what Dad is thinking with him doing it so openly and clearly, "Taylor... I know I haven't been the best father, but..."

"Dad," I cut him off awkwardly. Then I lie, knowing that I am lying since my Psychic power tells me that exactly. And Dad knows it too. "You were great. You are great." I can't look at him anymore.

My eyes drifts down to my toes, where a pair of mismatched socks stared back up at me. Maybe I shouldn't lie.

But Dad believes me, because _he's my dad_. Still, his will is firm like a towering inferno or mountain, and I feel his presence coming close, until I see his feet not so far away from mine.

I can't help but look up again. Why are my eyes stinging?

"Taylor..." He whispers, half-croaking with a harsh tone that sounds like the moment a fierce tundra wind dies.

I don't want him to come closer. I feel my knees nearly buckle, and I take a step back to right myself.

This motion is enough to make Dad pause and draw in a breath. His resolve is steel. The fire in him, in his heart and in his eyes, is back, "Taylor, I know things haven't been... the best. But skipping school isn't something your mother would have wanted for you."

It might be better if he just slapped me. I might still be able to bear those silent, accusing eyes.

Even if he doesn't say it, I think it for him.

'If only Taylor hadn't been there. If only Taylor wasn't in the car. If only-'

Callused, thick hands grasp my shoulders and I feel a violent shake distort my train of thought and the chaotic concentration that it was causing. Oh, I am speaking with my mind. Is it a power of Psychic? But I shouldn't have the finesse or raw power for it, shouldn't I?

But Dad is looking at me now.

And now I'm being suffocated.

No.

It smells like Dad. This is his chest.

Dad is hugging me.

Why is he hugging me?

"Mmmph?"

Dad lets go, wiping at his cheeks with his hands in a crude way, before putting those same hands around me again. His features and his mind are both stern, toughened, and furious. The world shakes as he speaks, "Taylor! Taylor... never, ever believe that. I would never blame you. You shouldn't blame yourself for..."

It hurts to say it, even now, for both of us. But Dad offered this olive branch, shouldn't I return it? I change the subject for him, "I Triggered, Dad. It might have been the bullying, but I think it's because I had... dreams... about Mom."

"... Bullying?" He mouths questioningly.

Silly Dad, "So, um. Can you not be mad? I'm using my power to start a store near the docks and everything. Maybe you can help... or something." My eyes are focusing on my toes again, counting the strands of loosened cotton.

It's hard to bring this side of me out.

It's difficult to even trust anyone, after Emma.

But it's Dad.

And maybe I was wrong about things. As I feel myself wrapped in another fierce embrace, I think for the first time, in a long time, that maybe-just with a glimmer of hope-things can't get any worse from here.


	5. Of Beginnings 1-5

1.5

Communication and conversation weren't such a good idea while we were both raw with emotion. We did speak, a little, about my becoming a cape. They were simple questions, but Dad needed to know.

Was I going to become a hero? Maybe. But I was just as fragile as a regular human being, so I didn't think that was a good idea.

Was I going to become a... villain? I didn't become outraged as I should have at Dad asking that. I knew he needed to ask. He would have supported me anyway, but he would not have approved.

So what were my plans? I told the truth. I wanted to start a company, presumably by the Docks.

What would I do? I'd sell things.

Really, Dad?

I could see what you were thinking! I would not dabble in drugs and I would definitely not sell myself like that! I... right, right, I needed to get a hold of myself. Sorry, Dad, I just got this power.

... Oh, come on, I don't think that you're that bad of a parent.

If I had to be so brutally honest, then you'd hear me still say you're far above average. I mean, the, ah, the Merchants? They weren't exactly a small gang. Not to say the others were much better.

Did you know what Brockton Bay was called on the internet? The Nazi-

You did?

No Dad, just because I was surprised you used the internet...

... Oh, that was a joke.

Ha-ha, funny.

Okay, you can stop now, I'm going to bed anyway.

* * *

"Dad, this pancake is great." I complimented.

"Mm, thanks." He half-grunted as he ate.

"The ad for my company is on the eighth page." I cheerfully pointed out.

"Hm, that's nice. I see it." Dad replied off-handedly.

"Dad, I'm thinking about skipping school to work on this full time." I stated casually.

"Wait, what was that?" Dad almost did a spit take. He dropped the newspaper in a heartbeat and stared at me incredulously, "Taylor..."

I shrugged, "It's okay, Dad. I'll get ah... whatever that certificate or degree that's pretty much an equivalent to a high school education is called."

Dad frowned, "Taylor, is the bullying that bad?"

I saw into his head, subconsciously of course, and even then only the single surface thoughts of the things he kept himself from saying at that moment. It was harder to keep my fingers out of people's minds when I was so close, conversing with them. Maybe staring into Dad's eyes also had a factor in it. This bore a need for more investigation, but at a later time.

Dad was thinking that I needed to be around more people my age. He was also thinking that it wasn't healthy to be alone, and that it might not be as nearly as safe as it seemed to just start a cape company... telling fortunes?

Oh, right, I forgot to tell Dad I was actually a bike tinker, who could probably do more.

On second thought, maybe keeping the specifics of my powers out of the conversation would be fine. Dad knew enough to trust me, and I trusted his judgement. It was just that my opening day was such a surreal experience... I didn't think Dad would believe me even if I could articulate the words.

"It's not..." A metaphorical light bulb went off in my head. I had an idea. It was a silly one sure, but it would definitely help, "... Alright, I'll, um, I'll go to school for now. But if my business takes off, can I focus on that instead?"

If, not when. To take a step back and analyze myself, I was really low on self-esteem, wasn't I?

"Maybe you should show me where you're working. I could help, you know?" He offered.

I shook my head at that. Thanks, but no thanks. "If I can't take care of the small problems, Dad, then I really shouldn't be running a business to begin with. If I had a problem I couldn't handle by myself, I'll tell you though, alright?"

"Fine," And thus, he was back to being my gruff Daddy.

I scarfed down the rest of my breakfast and walked out to the door. I had originally planned to go jogging every morning, if not to keep fit then to...well, that was a good reason enough. But I had been using the last of my supplies making a few more bikes. Potions and such didn't seem to sell so well, even if it was the first day.

No one believed in me, even when I was in the guise of Professor Sylph. I sighed at the thought. "I'm going!" I called from the door.

As I took my first step out, a wave of psionic distortion washed over me. The technical machine for Psychic only left instructions for using psychic abilities in an explosive and offensive barrage that would easily shred a building into nothingness, but it left little on the intricacies of the mental power.

As it turned out, just by keeping this technical machine's ability, it unlocked a whole, new muscle and sense for me to utilize. Accidentally speaking into Dad's head was just the first, initial step.

I had spent the night working on what I could and couldn't do. It would not be appropriate if I spoke into someone's head while under duress again. But with the mental power unlocked, I had a lot of different tricks I could try.

More than utter destruction and chaos, I had a tool to walk into other people's heads, and even my own head. That was how I was able to explore the power in the first place: Psychic allowed me to be conscious while sleeping. It even sped up my thinking speed.

To be honest, the time before Psychic felt like a memory of living in mists, but I already knew that since I had first started using the move.

Now however, I had added one more trick to my repertoire. Psychic seemed to be pretty much any general and unspecified manipulation of the mind-my own or otherwise. Not that it did much to keep me durable, since that was an entirely different field of psionic ability that I apparently had barely any ability for that. All I had was a bit of mind control and a bit of a sort-of-but-not-really-invisibility, outside of the destructive forces I could unleash.

I didn't control anyone! Sheesh... I didn't think I would be able to even if I tried. That was still a bit above my skill. What I could do was simple; I could take over the minds of smaller things, simpler things. Like bugs and such.

I didn't have a good range outside of our house, but I could feel the simpler minds pretty quickly and enforce my will upon them. Do you know what it was like to control a spider in the corner of my room? It was like having another body, looking through it and moving it, and it freaked me the fuck out.

... Yeah, I didn't think I'd be able to control more than ten bugs at a time.

Nevertheless, that aspect of Psychic wasn't important. It wasn't like I'd ever be a bug-user or something. Ha! The very thought of me running around on rooftops with a swarm of bugs around me... not that it was all that nasty, because I had gotten over that after jumping into a spider's body, but... really? That was just some weird fantasy...

Anyhow, what was important was that I didn't need to jump into other people's minds. I just had to whisper at them and not into them. It was a sort of suggestion aura thingy, and it would come handy in making everyone at school just ignore me. If they could just leave me alone, that would be great.

I had found out about this ability on accident, actually.

It was late in the evening and I probably had one glass of water too many. So I wanted to go to the restroom to pee. I was thinking it, but my body wasn't reacting, because I was in that stupid meditative state where my mind would wander while my body rested.

... I might have been repeating 'I need to pee' in my head a lot by that time...

... Anyway, one thing led to another, and by the time I figured out I could sense where other minds were at, I realized I made Dad run to the bathroom eleven times that night. I didn't think I'd have the nerve to look Dad in the face in the morning.

Well, the damage was already done.

I would use my time in school productively. With everyone acting as if things were normal, it would be a good time to start working on Technical Machine 90, Substitute. With that, I'd totally be able to go to school and work at my shop at the same time. It was a nifty little move that made a false, projected clone body in my exact likeness. With Psychic in play, it shouldn't be a problem to run around using that clone at school, since I could feel and interact and see through it just as easily as my own body, probably.

Humming a tune, I felt like things were getting better from now on. No more bullies, a starting business, and a happier home! What could possibly go wrong?


	6. Of Beginnings 1-6

1.6

Sometimes, I hated Psychic. One of the more subtle abilities it bestowed upon me was that I had been able to take a step back from my immediate situation and look at it from a more emotionless and objective perspective. This was good for working out the facts and facets of my powers or planning how my business ought to be run; it wasn't good for other things.

Those other things included being cornered in the bathroom by Emma, Sophia and Madison.

Why?

My power forced me to take a perspective where I rather admire my tormentors in some bizarre way, for their willpower if nothing else. Subtle suggestions had done their work on most of my class, and even worked on Madison, but not Sophia or Emma. Whether it was because they had acquired some sort of anger against me that couldn't be quenched or because they had somehow become 'dark' enough to resist Psychic suggestions, I didn't know.

What I did know was that they spent half the day accepting my I-don't-want-any-trouble aura, but just fifteen minutes away from me at lunch was enough to somehow convince them of the apparent error in their ways. How... why were they so mean?

My vision was blurred from the juice they had poured over me, but I could still feel out their minds.

Madison was hanging around, with small waves of insecurity and uncertainty coming off of her. 'Maybe I shouldn't do this...' She would think one moment, before her thoughts turned to something else, 'I wonder what color shoes I should wear tomorrow?'

I had to rein in my initial impulse to simply shout into her mind and freak her the fuck out of the restroom with, 'It's all nice that you're having second thoughts, but why is tormenting me actually less important compared to what kind of color coordination you had for tomorrow?'

Emma wasn't much better in that case. For the most part, she was rather single-mindedly chanting, 'I'm not like you. I'm not like you. I'm not like you.' But sometimes her mind wandered too. It made me ponder, as orange juice dripped down my back, if all human minds were as messy as theirs? 'I hope Dad buys me that new bag during winter break.'

That reminded me; Mr. Barnes was a lawyer, wasn't he?

Finally, there was Sophia, and she was actually a surprise. I could only touch her surface thoughts; in my Psychic senses, she was all but invisible with a slight outline, where everyone else were like bright torches. How did she get so dark? Was her life so bad? Nevertheless, her thoughts were actually less focused than Emma's, 'What a weak prey. I better watch the doors. Can't be caught. Won't be caught. We are strong. This weak girl serves us because we are strong.'

... I honestly didn't have anything to say about that, except I disagreed wholeheartedly. The whole point of civilization was so that the baser instincts were no longer necessary. The whole point of society was for everyone to work together, wasn't it? But now, I didn't think I could put such faith in the system.

It didn't protect me, after all.

Did Sophia have a point?

And as I thought about her, she banged on the stall door, "Hey, Hebert. Why don't you open up so we can take a picture or two?"

Alright. That was enough of that.

I laced my voice with power-enough that I saw a dim reflection of my now glowing, purple eyes on the plastic wall of my stall and commanded, "Go back to class and forget about me for the rest of the day."

Bitches.

They did forget me though.

* * *

Cleaning up took less than an hour, but more than thirty minutes. It fell upon me to do everything necessary, because I didn't want to walk around with sticky shoes and a mixed berry smell. Moreover, it would do horrors to my reputation as Professor Sylph.

I arrived late in the afternoon, as the sun had just begun to set in that sort of pretty red-orange-purple mixture in the sky. It was pretty, like an oil painting, but the backdrop of the abandoned buildings in the docks didn't really add much to the scene.

That there were more than ten ruffians standing around outside my shop hadn't helped matters either.

"Well, hello," I spoke clearly in the voice of the wizened, old professor persona that I took up. It was a good way to sell, I thought. People trusted professors in white lab coats. People also trusted older people. Why not? "Can I help you?"

One of them walked forward and I noticed the ABB gang signs on their skin, after I noticed they were all Asian. I didn't see people by race anymore-Psychic was politically correct like that. "Yo Doc! What's up with opening up so late?"

"I had to run some errands," I excused. "And fix up more bikes. It looked like they were selling pretty well."

"That's why we're here." That same thug... no, that customer said. Right, since he was a customer, I must be polite, even if he looked ridiculous with his jeans sagging like that, his boxers hanging out like some buffoon, and with his hat twirled sideways like some pop music artist who never made it anywhere.

His thoughts, not mine. He was literally thinking them out loud, almost as if he was forced into the gang and forced to wear that silly outfit.

"We're lookin' to gear up on bikes," He added awkwardly.

"Oh? Do you want the same model that Lung got?" I deduced without preamble. Then I added jokingly, "You know, I can't give you the same discount I gave Lung."

"Well, we're want to negotiate that," Another thug said from behind. He was taller than the first one, and wore more jewellery than the Mayor's wife on her wedding day. "See, it's not safe on the streets with you all by your lonesome, so we're here to ask you to join us back home."

I frowned as I stopped reaching for my keys to open up my shop. If things escalated-and I was never one for escalation-then I wouldn't want my shop damaged. "Hm... I'm sorry, boys, but I must decline on that proposal. If you still want to buy bikes-"

"I'm sorry, but I wasn't asking." The taller gangster pulled out a gun. It was a pistol of some kind, big and silvery, and I didn't bother trying to figure out was model or make it was.

Honestly, that was so rude!

Psychic power glowed for a single moment, and the gun turned. His hand turned. It was pointed at his throat now. I wanted to point it somewhere non-fatal, but it seemed that I had to make a point before they shot someone.

Even if I had Psychic, I couldn't stop multiple bullets from multiple directions at the same time! What I could do was what I did do.

Suddenly, the ten ruffians found they could not move so much as a twitch. Their skin was covered in a light glow. It was a sign that I was not proficient enough at the mental powers yet to have the finesse to hold them invisibly, but I doubted they knew that.

"I think we got off on the wrong foot here, boys," I said carefully. It was strange that for some reason they all had fear of some kind rolling off of them now. Maybe it was my glowing eyes? "My shop isn't a place for you to coerce me, it shall be.. neutral ground." That sounded nice and, more importantly, good for business.

They whimpered in response.

"Now, did you still want bikes? Since you haven't caused any damage yet, I'm not going to just start charging extra, but do shake or nod," I muttered.

The first gangster nodded slowly. Ah, was I holding their throats too tightly? I was focused on that one gangster's throat, so I suppose that could have caused my concentration to slip.

"Right then... for the ten of you, the total will be ten thousand dollars, plus tax." I clapped my hands happily. Then I added as part of my Professor persona, "If you don't pay up, I might have to toss you... out. As I said, I can't keep handing out free stuff all day, this is a business after all."

As it turned out, the group had only enough currency to pass around for five bikes. The rest were paid with their jewellery, their weapons, and their cell phones. I might have been extorting a bit, but they started it.

And it wasn't like they didn't hide that shamefully embarrassed look of pure joy as they rode their bikes away. I could feel them being happy with their new bikes, after they read the full list of their new vehicle's capabilities.

"You haven't heard the last of us! We'll be back!" That rowdy one howled.

"As paying customers, I hope!" I called into the sunset.

Hm.

I did make good bikes, if I could say so myself.

I noticed another mind skulking around in the shadows. "You can come out now, if you're a customer. I won't hurt you," I added with a slight Psychic suggestion.

A darkly dressed cape came out after an agonisingly long moment. It was as if Psychic had little effect on her. Her face was covered in a makeshift, full-facial mask, her body was wrapped up snugly too, and I spied a crossbow here and there. She was silent.

"Ah, I think I know you, Shadow Stalker, was it?" I had done some preliminary research for the creation of my Parahuman Encyclopedia, after all, and she was one of the newer vigilantes to pop up in Brockton Bay. It was hard to suppress my giddiness fully, because it seemed as if she was somewhere around my age.

"I've never heard of you," She said after a moment.

"Is that right? Well, I'm Professor Sylph, and this is my store," I motioned to the two story building behind me.

She shrugged after a moment, awkwardly, as if expecting something from me. Harshness maybe? I couldn't see into her head without her knowing; another Dark-type it seemed. "I heard you sold tinker healing devices."

"Oh, yes, I do. Why don't you come in and browse my wares," I added.

She hesitated.

Suppressing a scowl, I added enough force of Psychic power into my intent for her, wanting a girl my age obviously trying to be a hero on her own to be safe, "Come on in, please."

Shadow Stalker followed obediently.

As she strode in after me, I heard her boots shifting from side to side, as if she was indecisive about something. Turning over my shoulder, I saw she was clutching her arm and looking away from me. She murmured in a soft, almost familiar voice, "You put down those ABB thugs brutally."

I thought back to my terrible day, and I realized I might have been overly harsh on those men. They were just here to do whatever their superiors told them, probably, or they just wanted to do Lung a favor. Maybe I took out my frustrations on them. But then again, thinking further back, maybe my own tormentors had a point about strength. So I shrugged and replied, "I'm strong, they're weak. I just had to make it clear enough to them that they won't come back to cause trouble again."

"Yeah..." She sighed, in a way that seemed almost like longing. Shadow Stalker looked around the store. Heck, she looked anywhere, but at my face. Maybe she hated older men for some reason?

What a pity, I thought. "Anyway, this is my Potion, which is a spray on, for healing almost any kind of damage. This is Heal All, which is good for paralysis, drowsiness, poison, illnesses, and so on. I hope you don't mind the needle. But you're a hero, aren't you?"

"... Yeah." She replied, and cleared her throat, as if to try to sound tougher. It started off slightly squeaky as I felt her attempt to meet my eyes. Strange girl.

Was Professor Sylph really that bad? I wondered. I hoped the girl would warm up to me eventually; it would be nice to have a friend my age and maybe even share my secrets with. "Well, here's a sample pack with two of each. You can say it's my honor to help you."

The package disappeared into the folds of her cloak and she nodded. "Thanks, Doc."

"I'm not a-" She had already phased through the door. I shrugged, "Ah, well..."

It was a decent enough end to a bad day, I nodded to myself. Alright! Time to finish up fine tuning the technical machine for Substitute so that I can begin operations in earnest!


	7. Of Beginnings 1-7

1.7

_Beep beep_.

The phone that I had listed for Professor Sylph's work/home number rang twice in my pants pocket. I looked down from the pasta I was eagerly poking. It might be urgent. "I gotta take this, Dad."

"Hm," He nodded without looking up from his meal. Nevertheless, I spied him watching me from the corners of his eyes as I left the table.

Taking on Professor Sylph's voice, I answered the phone, "Hello? You've reached Professor Sylph, how can I help you?"

"Hi Professor!" An eager, enthusiastic voice answered. There was something... plastic about him that sounded like a sales person more than anything else. It reminded me of myself in this persona, actually. "This is Tom, Tom Jones from Pfizer. We heard about your medicinal product and wanted to offer you a great deal!"

"Huh." Why was it that word spread faster about the Potions than my bikes? Those were good bikes!

"Yes, I understand you make your Potions and Heal Alls to help people," The man, Tom Jones, continued, as if I had not interrupted him.

"Yes, that is true." I nodded.

"Well, Professor, you can't help that many people with so few products in such a small and remote shop. I'm sure you know this already, so what do you say to selling the license to produce your product? Our company can help spread your product all over the world," He promised.

I couldn't hold back a laugh. "HA! Oh, Tom Jones, was it? You got it all wrong."

"I... I did?" That seemed to put him off balance.

"Oh yeah," I nodded again. "See, I don't need anyone to help producing my product. Essentially, I can have practically unlimited production if I wanted to."

"I understand," He replied back on his feet. "How about distribution rights? We can offer you-"

"Why don't you come to me with terms tomorrow in my office? I'll of course compare your terms with the terms that your competitors offer, though you understand how packaging doesn't really need to have such a large company, right?" I had cut him off immediately. I would need to find myself a lawyer too, now that I thought about it.

Maybe it was my constant interruptions, but Tom started sounding indignant, "With a company like Pfizer behind you, it adds the reputation of a-"

"Right, and I don't need reputation because my stuff can be mass produced and is pretty much a miracle drug. Have a nice evening, Tom." I didn't like it when people tried to strong arm me, and it seemed that the whole world was filled with such bullies.

"Good night." Click. _Beep._

I sighed and returned to the table.

Dad looked up, "Rough day?"

"Oh, you don't know the half of it, Dad." I went back to my yummy orange juice. Mm, juice.

"Want to talk about it?" He asked after a moment of thought.

I thought about that for a moment too. Then I sighed again and nodded. "Well, just now, Pfizer called. You know, that international pharmaceutical corporation in New York? Wanted to buy the license to my Potion."

Dad frowned. "Isn't that... good?"

I giggled, "Dad! I'm a business woman now!"

He smiled. "I know, I know. Just weighing the options for you."

I nodded and took a big gulp. "It's not a bad idea. I could help a lot of people. That's what's important in the end."

Dad just watched me silently.

I drooped. "I'll give them another call later..."

"You should still get your due," Dad added. "If I can't help with anything else, I can help you get a good lawyer. Someone trustworthy that Mr. Barnes can introduce you to. You remember him?"

Oh. "Uh. Emma and I, we aren't on the best of terms, Dad." To put it lightly, I grumbled to myself.

Dad's frown deepened, and it felt like he was doing that thing where his voice rumbled again. "What happened?"

"Don't worry about it, Dad." I turned away.

_Beep beep_.

The phone rang again.

I blinked and excused myself from the table again, "Sorry, Dad. I gotta take this." Ugh. "You've reached Professor Sylph."

"Professor." It was Armsmaster.

I found myself smiling and thinking about the blue and silver logo on my underwear. "Armsmaster! How are you? I hope this is a social call?"

But of course, it wasn't. "No, this isn't. You have been selling technology to villains."

"I don't discriminate, as long as they are a customer," I replied instantly. But that wouldn't do to explain myself or placate Armsmaster, so I added, "I only sell bikes, so I don't really see the problem? Besides, I only sold to Lung, and you were there, remember?"

"I am beginning to regret that." He said after a pause. It sounded like he was running passed traffic in the background. "You did not mention your bikes have sophisticated inertia dampeners."

I blinked. "I thought that was... obvious? What's the problem?"

"... Turn on the local news, I will be in touch with recruitment offers." He replied.

_Beep_.

Huh.

"Dad, what's on the news right now?" I called from the next room over.

I heard a second of white noise, before the television was turned on and the volume turned up as I walked back to the dinner table. The screen was plastered with what was one of the highways leading out of Brockton Bay, with several bicycles there going more than twice as fast as the cars.

"-_If you're just joining us at home for this bike chase, let me give you a recap of what has been happening in the past hour._" The news anchor spoke in that smooth voice that he had. He sure had a nice smile, with bright, white teeth. Mm. "_The local villain group known as the Undersiders are being chased by the group now confirmed to be a part of the local gang known as the Asian Bad Boys. In the lead, you see the notorious villain, Lung, chasing after the other villain group, and what is most spectacular about this chase is that it's all happening on bicycles._"

My fork clattered onto my plate.

"_We are now-oh whoa! Did you see that?_" He gaped as the bikes made a sharp turn and dropped about fifteen meters or so off of one highway onto another road far, far below it. "_We are getting confirmation now... yes, these vehicles are locally made by a rogue going by the name of Professor Sylph. Whoa!_"

Was it really that surprising that my bikes could survive crashing into practically anything, including a police barricade, without even harming a hair on their rider's heads? Safety was most important, after all, for these sorts of things. It didn't even take Winslow High to have shown me _Red Asphalt_ enough times to have drilled that into my head. Mom...

But that wasn't it, was it? I saw Armsmaster's bike following the other ABB member's bikes closely. It looked like he was pushing his motorcycle to its fullest to keep up. It was probably because he never needed to get into high speed chases as often, or maybe he just never had a need for speed.

The problem for me, however, wasn't that they were giving me free advertisement. It wasn't even that no one was actually hurt in this chase. The problem was, of course, that these... Undersiders... had stolen my bikes from my shop. I had locked it up nice and tight too!

Fuck!

Served me right for not just keeping my merchandise on me. Fuck. Fuck, fuck fuck fuckfuckfuck. STEALING? From me? It looked like I needed to teach some assholes a lesson. I cleared my plate. "Dad? I'm heading out."

"Taylor, this..." He watched, knowing exactly what I wanted to do.

"Don't worry, Dad! I'll be back soon. It's a school night, after all." Dad didn't stop me. Maybe it was because he trusted me or maybe it was because I had shown that I had grown up. I would like to think that.

But I knew it was really because he saw me float up into the air in a bubble of psionic energy.


	8. Of Beginnings 1-8

1.8

The Undersiders had a Parahumans Wikipedia profile page. It was scarcely filled with barely any information other than the obvious. That they were villains, thieves at that, needed not be said. But what did I really know about them?

I knew their names, and that was about it, the wiki was incredibly sparse on details.

Nevertheless, I didn't find myself shocked or even surprised to see three bikes below having unfolded a passenger seat each for a total of three rather large canines.

It might have even been cute, had these bikes not been stolen. Each bike was registered to a user with identification (with exception of Lung), and not one of them was registered to 'Tattletale', 'Grue', 'Hellhound', or 'Regent'. Obviously, this meant they were stolen.

My Substitute used Mimic to take the form of Professor Sylph and dropped down about five hundred meters away, waiting. As the speeding chase took to a hill—and therefore obviously slowing the bikes down to half their speed—I triggered the automatic folding mechanism in my merchandise and allowed my Substitute to walk into view.

Soft, feminine cursing could be heard even from where I floated in the sky, though my own automated voice, coming from the stolen bikes as they collapsed one at a time starting with the one being ridden by Tattletale, drowned the Undersiders' voices out, "You cannot do that here, Sarah." The poor girl, Sarah, whoever she was, was probably sobbing at home somewhere missing her bike.

Psychic was very useful for getting names, but I had to be careful about going deeper into a person's mind and memories. And obviously, I simply didn't have the finesse and time to delve into the minds of these thieves.

Then all of the Undersiders swore in some fashion or manner, as their bikes collapsed and they skidded, rolled, or tumbled clumsily to a stop. My psychic senses stretched to their wrists, knees, and elbows, just to make sure they didn't hurt themselves too much once the inertia control systems turned off some five seconds after the bicycles shut off.

They might have been villains, but letting them take injuries would have been an unnecessary waste of my potions. And it helped the persona I was building for Professor Slyph; that of a kindly but stern man.

It was then that I walked up to them in my fake body. It was all an act of false bravado, because my heart was beating loud enough to drown out the sirens following Armsmaster. Still, I tried to act as if I was not affected by this night's occurrences by staring down at my phone and reading aloud.

I spoke before they could climb to their feet, pulling names of the original owners of these bikes from my cell phone, "Hm, poor Sarah, Rachel, Brian, and Alex. Tell me, Undersiders, did you hurt those poor children before stealing their bikes? That's about as low as stealing candy from a baby."

And that would have been all the provocation I needed to take a shot at these villains, if they had actually hurt those children. Hell, against thieving bullies, taking a second shot while they were down would have been fine too.

Something in my demeanour must have tipped them off, because the blonde girl with the shapely body clad in the skin-tight costume—Tattletale—grabbed her teammates and spoke first. Her eyes were wide, darting around my fake body as if she was looking for something, and I was tempted to read her mind. I would have done so too, if I hadn't been so excited and had the patience to calm down.

Fuck, I needed that Calm Mind Technical Machine.

"Professor," Tattletale said with excessive slowness. Was she trying to calm me down? Her hands were up and purposely un-threatening. "It might sound strange, but we didn't steal these bikes."

"Wait, what?" I blinked, but then Lung and friends caught up, expertly skidding to a halt in front of us. I recognised some of the other riders as the punks from the other day, including the loud-mouth. In this short time, Lung had become something of an expert with bicycling. Was this one of his hidden powers?

"Doc," He nodded once at me with a voice rumbling like thunder. It sounded respectful, though that might also be because of the way his back bent ever so slightly. The bike he was on was trying its best to accommodate him, but he had already grown to over two meters tall and his bike was reaching a limit.

My idle thoughts on how to reinforce the frame to withstand several tons of weight were interrupted as Lung continued speaking, "You caught them. Good."

I nodded, "Yes, the Undersiders were just about to explain to me what they were doing with my products in their hands, as well as starting this… high-speed chase." I cleared my throat and thought for a moment. They did look young, about my real age in fact. "Though, the free advertisement has not been an entirely bad thing."

Lung shook his head as he jumped off his bike. It folded into his hand like one of those digital light-cycles from that film, Tron. It was a good thing I had made the early model to be fireproof, because his fist immediately lit up in flames. "Doc, move aside."

Frowning, I asked, "What do you intend to do, Lung? You can't be thinking of killing them, can you?" I dreaded his answer, because I could tell what he was thinking without even trying.

"That's exactly what I intend to do, Doc," He bit back immediately.

I waved a hand at Tattletale, who was making a silly face at Lung from behind my Substitute. The spike of anger from the metal dragon-man in front of my clone was palpable enough that I felt it even in the clouds.

This girl was a problem; it was like she seemed to just know things, but how? She wasn't psychic that was for sure, for one thing I would have noticed. But she had to be getting her information from somewhere. I decided to investigate later, right now I had to make sure this didn't turn into a fight.

My psychic hand clapped over Tattletale's mouth and I turned my clone back to Lung, adopting what I hoped was some kind of fatherly expression as I spoke to him, "Come now, Lung. What did they do?"

He considered just plowing over me for a moment, but the hunches of his back eased, if only slightly. "They stole from my business, Doc. They need to be made an example of."

I felt my frown deepen at that. "A repeat offense, huh? What do you have to say to that, Grue of the Undersiders?" Admittedly, Grue had a nice body in that likewise skin-tight suit. I found myself biting my lower lip as I spied on his tight abs. My eyes might have lingered a moment too long on him, but I doubted anyone noticed.

"It doesn't matter, right?" Tattletale interjected. Her tall and dark team-mate grumbled incoherently in his head about that. It was loud, in the psychic sense. Damn it, losing concentration allowed her free reign. Damn beefcake. "You won't let him just kill us, would you, Doc? It's against your morals and it's bad for business."

She did have a point but—

Tattletale continued with a smug, cocky grin that might have even been defined as vulpine in nature, if someone had the time to do so, "If you hold us here, Professor Sylph, then you might as well be associated with Lung, a known villain. And letting the PRT catch us is just going to end up with us being forcedly conscripted. You'd be pivotal in bullying us into Endbringer fights… and that isn't you, is it, Professor?"

That was starting to get annoying; if she ran her mouth too much it would cause this situation to escalate. I mean, she had to know that, right? Right?

It was then that I decided that I was way too curious how she did what she did, but I never had the chance to find out.

Lung roared, "Enough! Kill them, and leave the Doc to me!"

A frantic gangster's bullet would have pierced my lung in the following second due to a twitchy finger, had that been the real me. Instead, my Substitute stared down at the bullet wound and glared. Another hit like that would dissipate my false body, and I couldn't have that. A barrier of psychic power flared to life in the shape of a bubble around the fake me.

Then, as if the night couldn't get any more chaotic, Armsmaster finally arrived on his jet bike. "Professor, you've been hit," He noted with a look of professional concern, if I was reading his frown correctly.

"Ah, yes. Well, I'll get better." What was the point of a Revive pellet embedded into my teeth, if not in preparation for such an event? I was also very, very happy I had it now, but I was also very, very unhappy about how this situation had turned out.

They didn't need to know that, however, as I continued speaking, "I came as soon as you called, Armsmaster. Though, I don't believe you could take Lung in on a charge of speeding."

"Actually, I could. It is his last strike," Armsmaster noted. He was straight to the point on the matter, and despite his voice being a gruff monotone, which was amazing I might add, I noted that he was feeling some satisfaction at having a chance to take down Lung.

I shrugged, it wasn't anything important, "You could, but this is actually a conversation between legitimate businessmen. We were just discussing these thieves," I pointed at the Undersiders, who were actually inching away as the focus of the situation shifted.

Up above us, news media helicopters circled loudly. There was no doubt this entire conversation was going to be on the internet by tomorrow. Well, the footage anyway, there was no way those cameras could pick up what we were saying over the noise.

Lung didn't seem to have any reservations against this, and he shouted again as his body grew even larger, "What are you waiting for? Kill them!"

I had just about had enough of this buffoonery. I tried to be nice, I really did. But if they were going to keep shooting guns—deadly, dangerous guns—then I wasn't going to hold back either. Using the pool of psionic power that welled deep within my mind, I gathered the natural forces of the universe into an unnatural wave of pure energy and force incomprehensible to human eyes.

This wave coalesced in the form of what was an omni-directional whirlpool that shot from my clone's fingertips and washed over the group of ABB gangsters. Only two of them had been on their Silph Co. Bikes, and they were able to weather what might as well be a tsunami of reality rending force.

That wasn't really surprising, there were hints that the bikes and rider could get hit by a tidal wave and not even get so much as a bruise.

Probably...

Maybe...

I'd have to check that actually.

The rest, including Lung, were tossed anywhere between five to five hundred meters into the air (depending on their size) and a similar distance away (also depending on their size). The more mortal of these would-be murderers were only left with some broken legs and spines… nothing a few potions wouldn't fix, I'd even give them away for free, but Lung was tossed far enough away that I didn't have to bother with him for the moment.

"There. Now, firstly…"

"That isn't going to stop Lung. Let us go, Professor." Tattletale nearly pleaded, if it wasn't for that jovial twitch of her lips. That action seriously dampened any real sympathy I was feeling at this very moment, especially since it was her fault that the fight started.

"Shut up, Tattletale." I turned to her other team members and brushed against their minds. "Looks like you all know about me better than I know about you," I remarked as I crossed my arms.

Someone or something told them I was Dangerous with a capital D, enough that this was all they were thinking about.

Grue stood forward uneasily. Clearly, he was still feeling cautious, but he didn't think as nearly as much as Tattletale. This was enough that I could 'lean' in and peak at what he was thinking. It was admirable, to see this sort of 'honor amongst rogues', even if that quote was being used somewhat incorrectly. He cared for his team, saw them as close to being life-long friends as one could. I only knew because I had a similar feeling once, for Emma.

I clicked my tongue in irritation, causing the tall, muscular man to raise his hands. After a moment, he spoke, "Look. We had no other choice. It was either use the bikes to escape or be caught by Lung. And he was out to kill us."

"What did you steal from him exactly?" I wondered.

"Drug money. Blood money. Human trafficking money. All we know is he made it doing something terrible," He replied.

"Huh." I shouldn't have been surprised, but I was.

"Thank you, Professor." Armsmaster cut in. He was listening to his helmet, so he was probably calling someone. Was it Miss Militia? She seemed pretty nice on television. "If that is all, would all of you come with me so that we may figure out what exactly happened tonight?"

A spike of irritation rocked from Grue. "I just told you what happened!"

Whatever Armsmaster's reply happened to be didn't matter, because at that moment, the ground shook. I looked over, and saw Lung returning, now doubled in side. His metal scales covered his skin and a pair of leathery wings spread into the sky and blotted out the stars. "K'll yo'. K'll yo' 'll." He grumbled unintelligently, his face warped slightly into a more reptilian shape, twisting his speech.

Any other words he said was simply too muffled to be audible or comprehensible. A wave of white-red flames sprouted from his collar like a fur coat covered in blood, and flames that defied physics twisted and turned into existence around him. A stream of hotness spewed from his maw, only to be diverted by a hastily raised purple barrier.

I made a gesture at Lung, but outside of scattering the asphalt round him and making a crater in the road, nothing happened.

"Great, he's more durable too," I lamented as Lung lumbered over and head-butted my barrier, causing a spread of spider web-like cracks on the shimmering purple solid light wall.

"How long will you be able to hold him?" Armsmaster asked suddenly.

"About another minute or two?" I thought. Since Moves given by Technical Machines had a limited number of uses, I knew I had only that much longer, or another five uses of the most potent form of Psychic, before I needed to chug an Elixir.

"I have a means of shutting him down. We need to minimize property damage." Armsmaster raised his halberd and tinkered with some settings or something. He was calm, but there was nothing inspiring about him; he was like a leader of heroes that I had once fantasised about, just not one with speeches and heroic poses, an utter professional. "Distract him and I will administer the tranquilizer."

This was almost disappointing, if I wasn't just so excited to fight beside him.

Too bad I couldn't show that side of me, in this persona.

Instead, I knew that doing such a thing was too much a risk for Armsmaster. The only thing I could be thankful for was that the freeway was practically cleared at this time of the night—possibly because of the five meter tall Lung that was stomping and smashing about like a bright lighthouse in the dark.

I needed…

I needed another way. And yet, looking at the Undersiders, who were climbing onto their giant, demon dogs, I realized that I had another way. With a wave of my hand, I held them in place. I didn't have to bother much, just need to turn Tattletale's head slightly.

Then I hijacked her head. Or more specifically, I assumed direct control of her power through her eyes, a sort of possession ability that no one would notice, considering the situation. Information flooded into my mind from her mind in the most erratic manner, like a form of babbling that was designed to make a person's head hurt.

I turned to Lung and Armsmaster, focusing the flow of information.

_Most vulnerable at base of neck._  
_Growing too powerful to be put to sleep from normal injection._  
_Tranquilizer capable of forcing Lung to sleep only if injected directly with dosage not available._

No, no, that wasn't enough.

I pushed the power further, one of Tattletale's nostrils started leaking blood.

_Injection from exact angle into—_

This wasn't the right direction. I needed to go deeper...

_Power too—_

No!

_Armsmaster unable to socialize without Dra—_

I didn't care about that! I didn't even know if these powers worked the same as Technical Machines, but I didn't have power, so I needed more finesse! If I had to force it out of whatever insane alien force was in her head, then so be it!

_Directions unclear, hurt host?—_

Damn it! That was enough!

Then I spread my control from just possessing Tattletale to possessing her source of power too, forcing my power down a tiny link in her mind into something different, and with a faint snarl on my lips forced it to do exactly what I wanted by pouring as much power as I could draw into the connection. Idly, I noticed Armsmaster charging around Lung on his bike as my barrier fell.

I looked inward for a fraction of a second.

_Psychic Power Points: 2/10._

_… Manipulation of Lung's brain possible._  
_Deduction from psychic senses observing power interaction with biological functions shows…_

As Armsmaster's halberd thrust upwards at the base of Lung's tail, purple light washed over Lung's body. There was no need for this, but I needed to be sure. He could recover, regenerate, from mishaps and I wouldn't be able to gain a second chance. So I put everything into giving Lung's power and Lung himself a surgery.

He roared in pain before me. Metal scales grew out skewed and slighted, cutting into his flesh. His fire burned his eyes into hollow, molten sockets of depthless darkness. His talons and claws and teeth fell and grew in every direction, sheering off scales and flesh alike.

"Huh," I blinked. So that's what controls the protections from his own powers.

Using Tattletale's power further, I dug deeper and deeper. I didn't want to kill my first customer, and I returned his protections. He might have tried to kill me, but I didn't want him to die yet. What I needed was for him to revert.

Revert!

REVERT!

Lung raged and roared soundlessly, he had already lost consciousness—possibly from Armsmaster's tranquilizer rather than my influence—yet he still clawed at the air. It was a fruitless effort… though I might have gone overboard, if only slightly.

By the time the last of the flames had faded and the last of my Psychic power faded—allowing Tattletale to fall unconscious from the strain I had accidentally put on her mind—Lung was curled up on the ground. Was he… smaller somehow? He looked younger too.

Honestly, he didn't look all that bad at all, though I felt a bit dirty for some vague reason. Maybe it was because he was a villain? I noted the Undersiders escaping in the aftermath, but I had none of the power necessary to hold them down.

Instead, I walked up to Armsmaster, and studied his beard mostly burned away from the heat and his skin a dangerous shade of red. Innocently, I offered, "Sooo… do you want to try my new product, a Burn Heal?"

As he nodded, I wondered if he had his wallet on him this time. He still owed me money.


	9. Of Beginnings 1-9

1.9

Fire was a force unique to Earth, from a certain point of view, she mused. Explosions, chemical reactions, and things of that sort happened in other celestial bodies, but none of it was the burning of wood, of coal, and of gas. No, fossil fuels of that sort only occurred on Earth, from a certain point of view. Certainly, some individuals in the scientific community seemed to think so. Fire, in the way that can be mastered by mortals.

So how was it that there were agents that granted pyrokinetics? And so, how vast must the universe be for such powers to have been developed?

It didn't matter.

And so, her musing ended.

All that mattered was that the fires grew large enough and hot enough to take the Good Professor's complete attention.

It seemed the Good Professor's only peeve—if it could even be so simplified into that—was fire. To have been trapped in the heated coffin and watch her mother die, that was all necessary according to The Path and wasn't that a strange revelation? It couldn't be done any other way however, and ensuring this event occurred had occupied far too much of her time. This, however, was not news. What it was, was simply a part of a whole, a scheme within a scheme within a scheme.

Everything is planned, even the frozen grin upon her face.

The purpose for that was, of course, to intimidate her fellows-in addition to everything else-into not asking the right questions. There are some things that they cannot know yet, and will not know, for as long as what is necessary. They should have known better than to question her motives, even if only in their minds. Yet soon, there would be proof enough.

That too is a part of a greater purpose. Everything was.

But she could not help but to feel a part of that false excitement come to life. It flared within her as she brushed away her black locks. Being beautiful was never one of her primary, secondary or tertiary objectives, yet it simply was.

To some, she was the pinnacle of competence, and to others a nightmare. All—and she would soon know this in utter certainty—knew she was a sleek, black machine; she reached her goals despite any obstacle.  
It wasn't hard to narrow down the process with what is available—what is necessary—and with that in hand, every other piece simply fell into place.

Her silken, black suit rustles just slightly, shimmering in the night. It is a sign of quality, perhaps, but also the specific thing necessary for accomplishing what she did. The Good Professor's defenses are very formidable, even if disguised so mundanely.

None of the truly mundane defenses bothered her. Yet it was the utter wrongness that must be dealt with—that otherworldly, impossibly and seemingly magical, power that made even thinking about the exact location of the shop incapable of becoming a reality.

You could stand right in front of the building, but to think even for a moment of walking inside and taking something was not going to happen. The Good Professor had called it psionic inventory, as if it weren't even meant to be a defense. Sometimes the best defense wasn't the one that was intended to be one.

Yet now, that defense would be down, for the first and probably last time. She stared down at the… at her baby. It was a sleek, black monster of a bicycle by normal standards, but it was utterly ordinary in all other regards.

It was her baby, her precious and only bike in the world, even if it had only been a step in the process, the plan within a plan within a plan.

If it was not for this bike, she would not have come to Brockton Bay.

If it was not for buying this bike, she would not have come to meet the Good Professor.

If it was not for inquiring about the bike, she would not have come to know that the Good Professor could do what he did. Yet truly, she could not believe that even what might as well be magic was in the scope of 'Psychic', as the Good Professor used it.

"You've been smiling for the last thirty minutes," Alexandria said at last. "Is the bicycle really that special?"

She found herself blinking at that. They could not see what she saw. It was plain to her now, on the masked faces before her. There was only one route now. There was only one path, clearer than she had ever seen it. It was also a road to being more than her powers; it would be such that it could define and change everything. She allowed her grin to disperse at last. "There has been a development. Door."

They could find out after.

Checking her watch, she knew she had only just enough time while the Good Professor was distracted by his self-made debacle. Yet it seemed to only make the elder man more attractive in her view, though he was just a mask.

Ah. Perhaps… after everything is done…

She focused on the present.

The lock clicked as the door slid open. Not a single person dared to come to this block; the gangs thought the Good Professor too frightening and the others feared what the gangs feared. In this case, it was another advantage, for which the Good Professor would not even realize what would be missing from his deepest vault until such a matter no longer mattered.

The vaults themselves were merely a temporary measure. Even a cursory glance at the arrayed tools around her told the story that she would need to keep in mind for later.

Electronic matter storage and transference was something that did not even work under the laws of this universe, yet the Good Professor would have it done by the end of the week. Even now, her Path was updating to account for it. Fifty steps removed.

Yes, there would be no other chances for taking what must be taken at this week's end. Step 87...

There were many blank slates in the laboratory's vault. Some were for unnecessary measures that she didn't bother with. After all, such work as mimicking and cloning was delegated to others, and the Professor would notice if any more than the one she came for was taken.

She raised the tiny disc over her head. It was now or never.

But all the vast, unquantifiable information available to her did not prepare her for the sensations that arrive after. This sensation, while unexpected, was planned for nevertheless. Step 89...

Some people thought to say that this was like having a sixth sense. It was only now that she knew how awfully wrong they were. This was not having one more sense, but a whole new set of senses that stretched to a quantum level and a level even greater than what she was accustomed to.

Here and now, she had the ability to sense time, to sense minds, to sense space, in ways more than just inference or deductions or anything brought forward by her agent. This… shard… was hers and hers alone.

No one could take that from her. She would not allow it.

A shiver ran down her spine as the lightshow ended and the disc disappeared from whence it came. A copy, as close as can be made, was left in its place, unable to function, but no longer a part of the greater scheme of things.

She had expected to be more than just overwhelmed. She had expected pain, loss of consciousness, and even death. None of that came. A perfect transference, free of side-effects.

All that came was her evolving understanding, as she used her own power to use this newly acquired ability to bring her agent to reins. From there on out, the vast sea of the psionic power that existed in this universe and more was shared with only one other; the professor who was perhaps the only one she could see as her equal.

He could create and destroy on a scale greater than her, but she had an understanding of his power greater than him now. She saw the truth about him now.

After all, with her powers working as one, nothing was invisible any more. Nothing.

Contessa waved her hands before her, psychically shredding a piece of space and time. It was a crude wormhole, but it was the best without actually having the Technical Machine for teleportation. Her fellows were more than just surprised to see her arrive without aide.

Perhaps another time, she would attempt teleportation, she mused, when her mind had adapted to this power better. Unlike many other powers they had encountered thus far, this was one that grew with its user. And with a flicker of power, her Path showed her the many, many ways it could be used.

Her ruby red lips curved like the smile of a femme fatale who had gained the grin of a great white shark, and she repeated, "It was a very interesting development."

Her face showed none of the amusement she derived from the reactions of the Triumvirate. And for once, she saw everything about them, even that which they did not yet know about themselves.

The old Path is obsolete... recalculating new Path.

Step One...


	10. Tattletaylor 1-10

1.10 Tattletale

It wasn't supposed to be like this, Tattletale thought to herself.

She had already started lamenting not reading the instruction manuals after the Boss had the bikes delivered. Nowhere between then and now did she ever get a hint that this would happen. It was all she could do to not scream out loud, even if she knew no one should have been able to hear her over the wind.

But as usual, the monster that was her bike had a few surprises of its own. It was clearly Tinker-tech, though it wasn't until this entire situation started going down hill that she picked up on what was causing her so much distress.

Not that the eight ABB bikers, plus Lung, helped with this situation either; thankfully, Oni Lee did not take the time to buy one of these death traps, so they lost him some twenty minutes ago.

Well, they were literally going down hill now, and all Tattletale could think was, what kind of bike doubles in speed going down a slope?

There might have been a sonic boom somewhere behind them, but the speed only lasted for the duration of the slope. It really happened too quickly. Immediately after they had arrived on flat ground, the bike's speed decreased instantly to a manageable rate.

None of this made sense, her education screamed to her, physics don't work that way! Her neck should have been snapped. Her body should have been tossed off like a rag doll. She shouldn't have been able to breath. And holy shit, did the bike's force field also protect from Lung's fire? This all seemed so entirely random, so out there, that-

_Designed so that people could combat indirectly_ _through tamed monstrosities._

Tattletale blinked, and tried to see more, but nothing else came.

There just wasn't enough information. Hell, there wasn't enough time! What would happen if Lung crashed his bike into them? With not enough dots to connect, she didn't want to find out. The Asian gang leader might have regeneration, but she certainly did not.

If only she had more information, or time, or maybe if she had only met the creator just once-

_Beep-eep_.

An internal, electronic voice spoke from somewhere unseen within the shiny, red bicycle. It spoke without tone and without giving anything away, "You can't do that here, Sarah."

... Wait, what?

_Vehicle collapsing in-_

"Shit!" She hissed and braced herself, only to remember to add to her teammates, "Guys! Get ready..."

Whatever she had to say was cut off as the bikes changed into their pocket forms, clattering against the pavement like cheap, plastic mobiles. Something seemed to have cushioned their fall, but one of Bitch's dogs collided into Tattle's back nevertheless as the side cars of her bike also collapsed. Under demonic dog slobber, Tattletale grumbled in incoherent rage, but her mind was racing.

The bikes behind her were skidding to a halt too. This was an area-wide shut down of advanced, mass produced, reliable Tinker-tech. This...

A stocky man in a lab coat floated some eight meters above the ground before them. He had graying hair, and slightly blood shot eyes, but what really gave him away was the way he floated inside a floating, glowing ball of purple energy and his eyes might have been glowing too. _The creator_.

No. That wasn't the real deal. It was a-

-_Remotely controlled flesh clone with... with... data error?_

It was a meat puppet by another name, and one that her power was reacting badly towards. Tattletale climbed onto her feet, she should have never taken that job, if she had known that it would just lead to death by telekinetic tinker bullshit. Strangely, the man was talking about children, stealing, or something about that.

Now was not the time to annoy him, especially if she couldn't see anything. It galled her more than anything that her main and only weapon was removed, and from the way his orb of power glowed...

_Likely to be a strengthened version of the bike's shield._

Shit. She hissed to the crew, "Let me handle this. He's... just let me take this one." She took a step forward and into the purple light. It was eerie how she felt like a thousand pinpricks were stabbing into her brain the moment she came in contact with that, but she tried to stay calm and calm the man.

He was... a Professor? She had been researching this man, a new rogue. He must have a powerful ability, to interest the Boss so much, and still be free. "Professor. It might sound strange, but we didn't steal these bikes."

The Professor was surprised, the face of his meat puppet showed that, but it showed her nothing else. He said something, but it was drowned out by Lung expertly stopping his bike not ten steps away from Tattletale.

And as if the night couldn't get any worse, they started discussing how they would punish the Undersiders just as Armsmaster approached... Then everything became a haze.

She had done something, she remembered.

But it was all blackness, and try as she might to listen to her teammates' recollections, and contemplate on it all while puking blood in front of the bathroom mirror while the sink ran full blast, the girl called Tattletale couldn't remember the rest of the night. By the time she had come to, she was already back at base.

Instead, her head hurt so much, that her eyes couldn't focus. Her hearing was muted, as if she was living in a bubble of water, isolated from the world. And the pain.

The pain was... it was like a million needles being stabbed into her head, from every direction.

Yet the weirdest thing was none of those.

It was that she believed, truly and absolutely, that she wasn't _just_ Tattletale. Somehow along the way, she believed she had lived two lives, with all the memories to match.

Now, if her powers would stop going on overdrive and analyzing everything down to their most basic components and giving her the strangest instructions in return-_Slide nail in one line, five directions, to cause mirror to crumple into dust. Slide in one line, eleven directions, to cause mirror to become as clean as brand new-_she might actually have a moment to process everything.

Would it have been too much to ask for a moment, between puking blood and bile with migraines causing her to scratch bloody lines on her skin, to figure out if she was actually a girl named Tattletale, or if she was a girl living in Tattletale's body, with the true identity of Taylor Hebert?


End file.
